Mystery at the Regal Rose Hotel

by C Jane Reid

  Arthur nodded.

  “She introduced us. My first impression of Herr Prinz was of an arrogant, pompous, entitled German. Not that I feel that all Germans are so. This German, though, I disliked at once. Thankfully, he didn’t seem taken with me, either. He left us not too long after, and Vera and I had a good laugh. And no,” she said before Arthur could ask his question, “Vera was not serious about him. If anything, I’d say she was experimenting.”

  “Experimenting?”

  “Vera is on a quest to experience as much of life as she can.”

  “Ah.”

  Lola smirked. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

  “Enough to know that I know enough.”

  She laughed.

  “When did you see him next?”

  Lola spent the next half hour describing her experiences with the deceased while twining her fingers into her short strand of pearls. When Arthur finally took out his notebook and pen, she restrained herself from reacting. At least at that point.

  “You have no idea why Mr. Canfield was still in the hotel?”

  “None,” she said sadly. “If I had, I’m sure I would have . . .” She trailed off. She wasn’t sure what she would have done. Stayed with him? And left Marilyn unprotected? That would have been a dilemma.

  Arthur was watching her.

  “I’m not sure what I would have done,” she admitted.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Only that I am certain Gordie didn’t push Herr Prinz down the stairs.”

  Arthur sighed and closed his notebook. When he looked at her, he seemed ten years older. “Lola, how long have you known Mr. Canfield?”

  She thought. “Two days.”

  Arthur stared at her.

  “I told you, I’m an excellent judge of character.”

  He shook his head. When he stood, she stood with him.

  “If I have any more questions—”

  “What if it was something else?”

  Arthur paused. “Do you have more information you’d like to pass on?”

  “No. Except only that Herr Prinz was leaning forward while dragging himself up the stairs.”

  Arthur cocked his head in question.

  “He was a rather large man,” Lola told him.

  “Yes.” He drew the word out and she could tell he was thinking.

  “Gordie is missing an arm. It’s made him rather frail, wouldn’t you say?”

  Arthur’s expression closed. “I should go.”

  She followed him to the door.

  “Arthur.”

  He looked at her with those darling brown eyes.

  “It is good to see you again.”

  He smiled, and this time it was wide enough to release those amazing dimples. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She nodded and watched as he walked down the hall to the lift.

  Closing the door, she leaned back on it.

  I’ll be in touch.

  About the case? Or for a more personal reason?

  She trembled then shook it off. Gordie. That’s where she needed to focus.

  “Has he gone already?” her mother asked as she came into the room.

  “Yes. More witnesses to interrogate, I suppose.”

  “You’re angry with him.” She fixed Lola with a long-suffering look. “He’s only doing—”

  “His job, I know.”

  “Don’t interrupt.”

  Lola bit the inside of her cheek.

  Her mother poured herself a cup of tea and settled on the sofa. “Arthur takes his work seriously. There are lives on the line. If he makes an error, it could cost another person. Can you understand?”

  Lola sat in the chair Arthur had vacated. It was still warm.

  “I would understand better if I’d known his work to begin with. And you make it sound as though he is still a soldier.”

  “I’m certain at times it must feel that way for him.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it quite like that.” Lola sat back and crossed her legs, draping her arms over the sides of the plush chair. “I can’t wrap my mind around it, Mama.”

  “It must have been very shocking. You were in quite a state when they called me to you.”

  “Was I?” Lola thought she should be embarrassed, but then again, however should one act when faced with a sudden death? “Did you see him? When you came to the Steward Room.” She would have had to pass the stairs from the lift.

  “No. They had arranged a sheet over him, thank goodness.”

  “Had you ever spoken with him?”

  “Are you interrogating me, Lola Lucille?”

  Lola winced. “Perhaps a little.”

  Her mother sighed and relaxed back into the cushions. Her auburn hair fell in waves to her shoulders, and her blues eyes, blue like the Texas skies as Lola’s father always put it, were keenly aware. Very little got past Deborah Addington Rose soon-to-be Blythe.

  “You are certain about this young man.” It wasn’t a question.

  Lola nodded.

  Her mother nodded, tight-lipped.

  “I can’t dissuade you, can I?”

  Lola shook her head.

  “This isn’t like the time you searched for the missing calf.”

  “I know. But I was right that Bobby Lee had stolen it.”

  “Or the time when you ruined Hernando’s surprise proposal to Juana.”

  “He was acting so suspiciously that you can hardly blame me for that.”

  “As you have said. Countless times.”

  “And apologized.” Profusely.

  Her mother studied her. She was going to bring it up. Lola knew it.

  “Do I have to say it?”

  Lola sighed. “She was unfaithful to him, Mama.”

  “I know.”

  “I couldn’t let Wyatt marry a woman like that.”

  “I realize this.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to come out so publicly.”

  “I realize that, too. And your cousin has forgiven you. But do you understand what is at stake this time, Lola?”

  “I do.” She straightened. “Mama, I’m not a foolish girl anymore.”

  Her mother’s brow arched. Lola let it pass.

  “You were right when you said Arthur was doing his work because people’s lives are on the line. Gordie is now one of those lives. How can I let that pass?”

  Her mother sighed. “Lola—”

  Lola stood. “I’m not going to interfere, I swear. I’m simply going to ask a few questions. And then tell Arthur anything I might discover.”

  “Isn’t that what he’s doing?” Mother said blandly.

  “Yes, well, not everyone is going to speak with him, are they? He’s the pillar of the law or something to that effect. I’m simply Lola.”

  Her mother’s look told her what she thought of that.

  Chapter Eight

  Lola was going to interfere.

  She knew it.

  Her mother knew it.

  And soon enough, Arthur would know it.

  She had to be careful. She didn’t know the laws in England, and while she did know a detective inspector, it wasn’t the same as knowing the Sheriff like she had back home. She did, however, have access to one of the most famous barristers. Sir Caldwell was going to be family soon. He surely wouldn’t allow her to be arrested for butting in.

  Confident, Lola called the lift. Carmen arrived with a smile on his tanned, broad face.

  “Miss Lola.”

  “Carmen, how delightful to see you. Is Angela well?”

  He grimaced. “I am not certain. She was not home when I called to visit.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “It is my hope. She is the one, I am certain.”

  Lola had her doubts. Any woman would be taken with Carmen and his Spanish accent and easy grin, but perhaps not so much when they learned his hopes to marry quickly and start a family at once.

  “Top floo
r, if you will,” she said as he closed the gate.

  “To Madame Meunier again?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “How long did she make you wait yesterday?”

  Lola laughed. “Only half an hour.”

  He shook his head. “You are persistent.”

  “Stubborn as a mule, that’s me.”

  She thanked him when they arrived and stepped off the lift, realizing she hadn’t counted the floors waiting for the lift to arrive. She’d been too preoccupied by the thought of being arrested and making a plan should it happen. Not that it would.

  The door to Miss Edie’s penthouse was directly across from the lift. There was a comfortable chair and small, marble-topped table with a green plant on it between the lift and the door. Lola had asked for them to be brought when she was waiting for Miss Edie to finally admit her. No one had argued against doing so. She had the feeling the staff had been wagering on her chance of an audience with Madame Meunier.

  The door opened immediately at her knock. Eugenie stood on the other side.

  “Miss Lola,” Eugenie said, looking relieved. “Please, come in.”

  Pleasantly surprised, Lola entered the foyer of the penthouse, her heels clicking on the marble.

  “I’ve brought Miss Edie a few of those scones she favors.” Lola held out the pastry box. The hotel bakery made them, and Miss Edie could have easy ordered them for herself, but Eugenie was careful of what Miss Edie consumed. Which was why she was frowning at Lola.

  Lola grinned. “You must allow me some way to tempt her into letting me continue to visit.”

  Eugenie relented. “Yes. I suppose I must. But only one.”

  “One for now and one for after I leave.”

  Eugenie wrinkled her brow. “You make it sound as though you are training a pet.”

  Lola’s grin broadened, but she said nothing. She did, however, notice that Eugenie had left off that horrible cap and twisted her long, blonde hair at the top of her head and kept it in place with a wide, silver clasp. It was a start.

  Eugenie led the way to the sitting room.

  “I must warn you, Madame is in a poor mood.”

  “Whyever for?”

  Eugenie glanced at her. Lola knew she was holding back reminding her that no one said whyever anymore.

  “She was very ill last night.”

  Lola stopped. “Was she? How ill? Did you call for the doctor? Next time you must call for me, too. I’m very good at tending to the sick.”

  “She has recovered,” Eugenie reassured her quickly. “The doctor was called. He said it was a passing malaise. She did not believe him, but he was correct.”

  “That must annoy her.”

  Eugenie nodded and stepped aside so Lola could enter.

  Miss Edie was propped in her favorite chair, a creamy silk, gilt wood chair with a button back and wonderfully comfortable cushioning. Lola knew. She’d dared to sit in it while waiting for Miss Edie earlier in the week.

  The elderly baroness had a quilted blanket tucked around her, and she was holding a book, her glasses perched low on her thin, straight nose.

  “Eugenie, we must discuss your forgetfulness,” she said without looking up.

  “Madame?”

  “You failed to alert me that we had a caller at the door.”

  “My mistake, Madame.”

  Everyone in the room knew it wasn’t a mistake.

  Eugenie gave Lola a wink, took the pink bakery box, and left the room.

  Lola crossed to her friend. “Eugenie mentioned you were ill. I hope you’ve recovered.”

  Miss Edie finally lowered her book to look at Lola over her glasses. “Quite. But thank you for your concern.”

  Lola listened for sarcasm, but Miss Edie was sincere. “I am naturally inclined to be concerned for my friends.”

  “And is that what we are becoming?” Miss Edie asked her. “Friends?”

  “I like to believe we already are.”

  Miss Edie smiled. She looked pale, well, paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes, but her smile lit her face.

  “You are a sweet young woman. Far too much so.”

  “How can one be too sweet?”

  “Oh, my dear Lola.” Miss Edie set the book aside. “You are entering a world of tradition and privilege, much of which has been tested over the past few decades. It will not be easy for you.”

  “I’m not concerned.” Then Lola frowned. “I am a bit concerned.”

  “Of course you are. Much is changing for you.”

  “For the better, I think.”

  “You are glad to leave Texas?”

  “I will miss it, and I hope to return at one point, to visit, mind you,” she added. “But I am glad to be here. I adore London.”

  “What have you seen of it?”

  “The port. The train. The taxi. And the hotel. So far.”

  Miss Edie laughed. It was a bell-like, infectious sound, and Lola joined in.

  “I suppose those are all rather indicative of a city. Though I would also recommend the British Museum, the Tower, and Highgate Cemetery. Oh, and the Blue Door.”

  “Why, Miss Edie! You cannot claim to have visited there.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because . . . wait. You said no one uses that word anymore.”

  “And you said you were bringing it back into fashion.”

  They exchanged looks.

  Eugenie returned with the tea tray, the scone prominently displayed.

  “Only one?” Miss Edie asked.

  “For now, Madame,” Eugenie answered. She poured the tea, set the single cup of Turkish coffee before Lola, then retreated.

  Miss Edie eyed hers before sipping.

  “Is something wrong?” Lola could never believe that Eugenie would make a mistake with tea.

  “I am hoping that this is from my private stores. I was not impressed by the tea served at the Tea Rose yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Lola set her cup down. “You haven’t heard.”

  “Heard?”

  “About Herr Prinz.”

  Miss Edie’s face hardened. “I have heard quite all I care to about that man.”

  “He’s dead.”

  Miss Edie went still. Then she lifted her cup and sipped. She savored the taste for a moment. Though, thinking on it, Lola wondered if she were savoring the news instead.

  “What are your plans for the day,” Miss Edie asked.

  “You aren’t going to say anything to the news?”

  “What should I say?”

  “The usual, I suppose. ‘Such a shame.’ ‘Poor man.’ ‘How did it happen?’” Lola suggested.

  “It is hardly a shame. He was far from being someone to mourn. And as long as he is dead, I do not care how it came about.” She sipped her tea.

  “Well, as it ‘happens, the police, including Detective Inspector—” she stressed the title, “—Arthur Blythe, believe he was murdered. By a friend of mine.”

  Miss Edie stiffened.

  “And I know that he did not do it.”

  “You do? And who might this friend be?”

  “Gordie Canfield.”

  “Ah. Your friend from the Portage Club.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you not say he was a soldier?”

  “Yes, he was. And maimed, as well. He lost his arm.”

  “That is unfortunate.” Miss Edie sounded genuinely saddened. She sighed and set aside her cup in favor of the scone. “I suppose you will not leave until you have shared the entirety of the news. Proceed.”

  While Miss Edie delicately ate her scone, Lola explained the events of last night.

  “What I don’t fully understand,” Lola concluded, “is why no one thought to tell me that Arthur worked for Scotland Yard.” She knew she was harping on the subject, but as she hadn’t been given an answer of any kind, she couldn’t seem to let it go.

  “I do not see when it would have come up.”

  “Ne
w Year’s Eve, when we met, would have been appropriate.”

  “I was not the one to introduce you.”

  Lola considered. “Sir Caldwell did. And he was more focused on the cousin’s son aspect.”

  “In such an environment as that event, relations would outweigh occupation. Especially given that so few of those in attendance have occupations.”

  “They seem quite skilled in gossip.”

  Miss Edie waved away the comment. Lola watched as she finished the scone.

  “What were you and Herr Prinz discussing at tea yesterday?” she asked.

  “Nothing of consequence now.”

  Lola raised an eye brow.

  Miss Edie brushed imaginary crumbs from her quilt. “If you must know . . .” She waited.

  “I simply must.”

  “Of course you must.” Miss Edie’s mouth formed a thin line. “This is not public knowledge.”

  “Such as you being a baroness?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve kept that secret. I’m sure I can keep this one.”

  “I am looking to sell part of my shares in the hotel.”

  “What? Why? Are you leaving?”

  “Calm down,” Miss Edie chastised. “I said part of my shares, not the entirety.”

  Lola relaxed.

  “Eckhardt Prinz heard and came to speak with me about purchasing them.”

  “All of them?”

  Miss Edie looked disgusted. “Yes. Which would have made him nearly a partner in ownership.”

  “And you refused?”

  “I certainly did refuse,” Miss Edie snapped. She stood, tossing the quilt aside. Lola had never seen her so agitated. “The man is, was,” she amended, “an arrogant, immoral, and unconscionable criminal. I want, wanted, nothing to do with him. And now I am quite relieved I will have nothing more to do with him.”

  Eugenie came into the room, looking concerned at her mistress’s outburst.

  Lola stood. “I apologize for upsetting you,” she said.

  Miss Edie sank onto the nearest chair. “No, Lola, it was hardly your doing.” She pressed a hand to her face. “I believe I will lie down.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Do come again,” Miss Edie said to Lola unexpectedly.

  Lola smiled. “I had intended to.”

  “Of course you had.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lola took the lift down to the ground floor, stopping only long enough at her suite to put on her rose-hued velveteen and wool coat and matching cloche. She clipped her way across the marble to the front desk after bidding Carmen a happy shift in the lift. He smiled that friendly smile of his.